Avarice
by Sidekicks-anonymous
Summary: After Greed's demise, Truth offers him a second chance. He is reborn into another world, under another name. But sins can't be erased, and friends stay carved into your soul-Greed's past echoes through his new life in ways he himself can't understand. Warning: angsty and includes themes of self-harm.
1. Rebirth

**There is a severe shortage of FMA/Seven Deadly Sins crossovers. I am remedying that.**  
**I don't own FMA or Seven Deadly Sins. Obviously.**

* * *

_I'm dying. _Greed was surprised at how calmly the thought came. It wasn't a panicked denial or a lamentation, merely a stated truth. The sky was blue, the sun rose in the east, and he was dying.

He drifted bodiless through the air, reduced to his core which, without the energy of human souls, was rapidly fading into dust. His wavering vision focused on his friends below-Lan Fan, the alchemist brat, the pissant prince. He could see in their faces that they were already mourning him. Ling's eyes were shining with grief, silently begging the homunculus to stay, to survive. Greed's nonexistent heart clenched.

_I can do without the pitiful look, pissant,_ he said hated seeing his minions in pain. _No, not minions,_ Greed corrected himself. Minions did whatever he told them, never whined, and they certainly never backsassed him. Ed and Ling weren't minions; they were friends. Those two, Darius, Heinkel-they were everything he ever could have wanted. What bitter irony it was that the embodiment of avarice had finally gotten what he needed to be satisfied-and now he was losing it.

_Thank you,_ Greed whispered as the last vestiges of his consciousness faded. _Goodbye...my friends…_

Greed awoke to a sea of white. A blank expanse stretched infinitely around him, broken only by a massive stone door. _So this is the Gate of Truth… _Greed reached out. His hand hovered over the carved stone, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. Just looking at it gave him a sense of impending doom.

"Welcome, Greed." A raspy voice spoke from behind him, echoing eerily. Greed spun around and found himself-or rather, a silhouette of himself. A blank white outline with no features but a mouth. The figure grinned at him with all the warmth of a crocodile.

Greed smiled wanly back. "You must be Truth. You're just like Ed described."

"And you are Greed the Avaricious." Truth said hoarsely. "Do you know where you are?"

"I'm dead." Greed gestured at the nothingness around them. "So what now? Am I going to Hell?"

"There is no heaven or hell for your kind. There is only home." Truth pointed to the austere gate. "Homunculus came from the Gate and will return to it, as will all who were born of him."

"...So I get to spend eternity trapped with my family. Explain to me how that isn't Hell."

"They're not your family."

Greed raised an eyebrow. "Sure they are. My old man made us all, you said so yourself."

"Blood doesn't make a family, not always. You know that well."

...Yes. He did. He'd rejected the homunculi, his blood family, and had been rejected in return. His real family was one he'd chosen-outcasts and rebels and all of them human. Greed smiled bitterly. "Don't suppose I could spend eternity with the humans instead?"

"No. However… your death doesn't have to be permanent." Truth's ghostly form stepped closer. "Equivalent exchange works both ways. You gave up everything to send Homunculus back to the Gate. I'm obligated to give you something in return."

Hope rose in Greed's chest. "I could go back?"

"Not to Amestris. You sacrificed your old life-but I'll give you a new one in exchange. An opportunity to pursue your ambitions and shape your life as you please."

It was more than Greed had expected. He nearly blurted out a "yes" before his common sense caught up with him. If he knew one thing, it was to not take gifts at face value. Especially when they were offered by a capricious god. "What's the catch?"

Truth's grin widened. "Your soul will be reborn. Your memories will not. You will start your life as a blank slate, as all beings do."

Give up his memories?! No, they were _his_. More than that, they were all he had left of his friends-his family. He couldn't give them up. He refused.

_Don't be an idiot._ The thought came unbidden, and in a voice that sounded like Ed. _You have a second chance-take it. You can't move forward if you live in the past._

But his past was all he had now. He'd finally found contentment, his insatiable greed sated with friendship. He couldn't stand to forget the people who'd brought meaning to his life.

_Friends can't be taken from you._ The voice was Ling's this time. _The people you love will stay with you forever. They're engraved on your soul._

Greed had a sneaking suspicion that Truth would be far more thorough than Father had been. There would be no miraculous recovery of his memories this time. Then again...maybe there didn't need to be. Ling was right. Greed's friends had wrought changes in him that were etched on his soul itself. Even if he couldn't consciously remember them, they were still there. In that form, his friends would stay with him as long as he lived.

"...I'll take it." Greed held out his hand to his doppelganger silhouette. "Let me live again."

Truth took his hand, eerie grin never fading. The Gate opened with an ominous creak. Black hands latched onto Greed, pulling him in. The secrets of the universe rushed past him in an incomprehensible blur. Unseen hands dismantled him piece by piece, stripping away his past and leaving only himself in his purest form. Greed's naked soul hurtled through the void to an unknown fate-

* * *

The baby entered the world screaming like a banshee. One could hardly blame him. Life is a painful experience at the best of times, and his had little hope of improving. What kind of life could await a child born in Ravens? Ravens was a city of thieves and cripples, a rubbish bin for society to toss its dregs into. The baby was not even wanted-his father scowled at the squalling infant distastefully. Another mouth to feed, another drain on his time.

"You'd better learn to earn your keep fast, boy." The father plunked the boy into a washbasin. The baby cried louder as the frigid water hit him. The father paid no heed, scrubbing the muck off his delicate skin with little care. "Shuddup or I'll give you something to cry about."

The baby blinked tears from his scarlet eyes and relented to the washing reluctantly. He was only a minute old and his future already looked bleak. But he was alive, and that was something.

They named him Ban.

* * *

**A/N: This idea came from my friend journal129. The actual fanfic turned out a lot angstier than I expected.**  
**I'm, uh...not sorry.**  
**Please review and tell me what you think!**


	2. Everything in the World

Ban wanted everything in the world.

It was an ambitious goal for a boy from Ravens. Most people in that city would have been content simply to have a full stomach every day. Even that small goal often eluded Ban, but it didn't stop him from hoping. He imagined sitting on a throne of gold, surrounded by treasures in a luxurious palace. He would lounge on velvet cushions while his parents knelt before him in their rags, groveling for his favor. And Ban would remember the bruises and the insults and the money they spent on bottles instead of food, and he would laugh in their faces before having them thrown in the dungeon.

It was a fantasy, but Ban wouldn't give it up. Nothing was impossible, not even for him. When he met Zhivago, he thought his luck had turned. The man was everything Ban wanted to be-strong, confident, agile. He took the possessions of others and easily made them his own. Ban was thrilled when Zhivago agreed to be his mentor. He did his best to master the lessons and beamed when the older man praised him.

Ban quietly altered his dreams to include Zhivago. When he owned the world, Ban decided, Zhivago would live with him at the palace. And Selion too, of course-his mentor's son deserved the best. Zhivago would stand at Ban's side when he sat on his throne, and the three of them would live together in comfort. The thought made Ban work even harder.

And then… and then Zhivago was gone.

Ban had tried to rob a manor by himself. He'd gotten caught and cursed his luck, but he was certain his beating wouldn't last long. Zhivago would show up at any minute and whisk him to safety like he always did.

Except that Zhivago never came. Ban was beaten bloody and he didn't come. Ban was dragged off to jail and he didn't come. Ban sat in a dark prison cell, whimpering in pain, and still Zhivago did not come. Ban wondered if it was a lesson. Then he wondered if it was a cruel joke. Then...he wondered if his luck had at last run out.

Eventually Ban's bruises healed, but his dreams never did. He still dreamed, but it was not of gold and palatial estates-it was of warm laughter and good food and of a hand stroking his hair as he dozed on the lap of someone he trusted.

Ban wanted everything in the world. But most of all, he wanted his father back.


	3. Old Friend

The girl looked familiar. Ban wasn't sure why. He had never been in King's Forest before ,and there certainly wasn't anyone like her outside it. Those golden eyes, wide and bright and glaring steelily into his own, were one of a kind. The stone-hard glare didn't fit the girl's youthful face. Maybe that was why Ban so at ease. Who could possibly be intimidated by a face like that? But no, something more nagged at him. Somewhere, somehow, he had seen this before-a hardened gaze on a young face framed by golden hair, gilded eyes glittering at him with determination. Somewhere before, he had seen a face like this and been happy to see its owner.

The thought remained even as he was thrown off the tree. Again. And again. And again, until he wanted to scream with frustration. This saint was pissing him off. And yet every time he faced those eyes, the sense of familiar fondness returned, even as she threw him to his death. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But he also found that he couldn't ignore it. So when his chance came and the saint paused in her assault, Ban used his magic to snatch the Fountain of Youth rather than snatching her heart from her body.

Ban reflected on that moment often-that first meeting. Prison gave him little to do but think, and Elaine was always on his mind. What would have happened, he wondered, if he hadn't felt that inexplicable closeness when they met? Just as the forest had stopped Elaine from killing him, had fate stepped in to protect her? Ban had climbed that tree ready to fight and kill whatever beast was guarding his prize. And even though Elaine had looked innocent and childlike, Ban was canny enough to know appearances were deceiving. If not for that annoyingly persistent feeling-the feeling that he knew her, or someone like her-he might have actually committed the crime he'd been convicted of. He might have slain Elaine and drunk the Fountain, and with his own hands killed his beloved and everything she held dear.

The thought made him vomit.

"Hey!" Ban shouted through the cell door, the taste of bile still on his lips. "Hey, you sons of whores who call yourselves guards! How's it feel to know I could thrash every one of you if I wanted to? Maybe I will, just for kicks-I'll bust out of here and stampede right through you and bash the king's brains in before you slugs can stop me!"

Self-flagellation didn't do anyone any good. Ban didn't care. He goaded the guards mercilessly until they snapped. Their response was equally merciless, and he hoarded the pain as punishment for his sin that might have been. And as he suffered, he thought of golden eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Elaine reminds him of Edward. That's not why he fell in love with her, but the association is still there, subconsciously.**  
**Ban has a complicated and tragic relationship with pain, and I hope I've portrayed it correctly. Reviews are appreciated.**


	4. Empty

**Warning: extreme angst, suicidal thoughts**

* * *

Sometimes, Ban felt empty.

...That was a lie. He _always _felt empty. His whole life had been defined by the cavernous void inside of him. It stretched across his memories, a near-constant ached for something, for anything, for _everything_.

As a child, he'd thought it was hunger. His belly was empty more often than not, and it was easy to confuse his physical hunger with his internal one. Zhivago had filled his belly and the emptiness had vanished as well. But then Zhivago was gone and the void inside him remained even when his stomach was full.

When food didn't help him, Ban stole to fill the void. He roamed Liones, snatching anything that caught his fancy. He poured the stolen goods into the hole inside him like a bribe to a marauding dragon, like a sacrifice to a malicious god. But this god was fickle, and the treasures he stole only dulled the emptiness for a moment. Even the endless water of the Fountain of Youth couldn't fill the bottomless pit, and Ban left the forest's ruins feeling emptier than ever.

Then Meliodas had come for him, and Ban tried to fill himself with fighting. In the heat of battle, it was easier to ignore the gaping void. So Ban fought his enemies until they died, and sparred with his comrades until he was exhausted. And when the euphoria of the battle waned, he drank himself into a stupor-alcohol may not fill the void, but it at least made it possible to not feel it for a time. The years passed in a blur of blood and booze, and Ban chased down every challenge that came his way. Because he knew the void was still there, hidden but not sated, and it would surface as soon as it got the chance. When the Sins scattered, Ban lost his distractions and the emptiness returned with a vengeance.

So Ban tried to fill it with pain. After all, the Weird Fangs were so generous with it; it would have been rude to refuse. Ban sat in Baste and basked in their torture, clinging to the pain as he clung to any feeling that wasn't emptiness. But even their sadism had limits; eventually Ban's body grew used to it and even their most novel tortures couldn't overshadow the emptiness anymore. And then Ban could do nothing but scream into the void. And scream he did-he screamed with all his might into the gaping hole, demanding what more it wanted, what it would take to quench it. And the void stayed silent, because Ban already knew what it wanted. What _he _wanted.

People. People were the only thing that ever quelled the emptiness. Ban didn't want possessions, he wanted to _be_ wanted, and the only way he would ever relieve the void that plagued him was by filling it with people who cared.

But people didn't stay. They left, like Zhivago. They died, like Elaine. They were stolen, as Meliodas had been, by plots and politics. And when they were gone, they left an even-greater emptiness in their wake. How could Ban fill a hole that grew deeper with every addition? And how could he endure the rest of his infinite life with this...this insatiable _greed_ that refused to satisfied any other way? He was like a starving man, eating and eating and yet still remaining hungry. Humans weren't meant to stay unsatisfied; how long would it be until the frustration and the hollowness robbed him of his sanity?

Those were Ban's thoughts in his darkest moments. Fortunately, he was as stubborn as the void was. Yes, the emptiness might destroy him one day, but he refused to just succumb to it. He'd appease the void with everything he could, with brawls and burglary and enough ale to make his liver cry for mercy. But who knew how long it would last?


End file.
